It's been more than a month since I completed my last one-year project, writing a happy post, or a happiness-inspiring post, or excerpting something from a book, or posting a video that inspires joy and I'm ripe for my new one-year project.
I thought that since it was Dickens's 200th anniversary, or as they say in Hollywood, Dickens 2012, I would spend this year, or well, the next 365 days, reading all of Dickens, the famous books the not-so-famous books.
I thought I would start with his early work, and then I decided heck it, I'll just meander through anyhow. At first I thought Bleak House would be a good place to start. Except that I couldn't seem to find it. I mean, not in bookstores in Malaysia, anyway.
So I decided to start with David Copperfield. Most Dickens aficionados are surprised that I haven't read it yet. I can only blame the fact that I picked up an abridged version and it skipped all the humour and got dire very quickly. So I always thought of David Copperfield as a terribly sad book. And most of the time, I was not in the mood to read a heart-wearying bildungsroman.
Then I interviewed the Dickens 2012 girl for a story and this was the first book her father read to her. And she absolutely loved it. What did I love, she asked? Oh, Pickwick Papers. And A Christmas Carol. They were both indulgences. Pleasures to be savoured and re-read.
And then I picked up David Copperfield at a Borders and sat down in one of those leather armchairs to read. Oh boy! I started giggling, then chuckling, the snorting with laughter. Esther, who was seated next to me looked up:
"So funny ah?"
I couldn't believe it. I had dragged my feet to read this book?
Of course, the funny bits stopped as soon as Mr Murdstone came into the picture with all the authority and cruelty of a fairy tale stepfather. But still, even when things are dire, Dickens's humour creeps in.
So anyway, I'm on page 112 and I see there are more than 900 pages in this book.
Just now, I went to Borders for a hot chocolate and classic doughnut and I brought the newspaper along with me to read. Instead, I went and dug out a David Copperfield from Borders (I had purposely not brought my copy along so I wouldn't waste office time reading it) and read it to my heart's content. Or nearly my heart's content. I mean, I had to break off, after all, to come back and finish my piece for the week.
And guess what? I did. I finished it. I mean, yay me! And this means I will go home and read some more of it.
I don't like Steerforth.
But then, I guess I'm not supposed to.
